


Nocturne

by twocandles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Jolto, M/M, POV Second Person, i apologise in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twocandles/pseuds/twocandles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a warm summer night and drowning has never felt this good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturne

It happens in the rain.

It is a warm summer night and you are tingly from the champagne and the liveliness of the city, the street music and the chatter, the joyous lightness of being — the exact opposite of the life you usually live. The only part that connects the two is him. You’re here with him and you have not felt this free and at peace with yourself in years. You never thought you were missing out on anything, you carefully decided that the army was your life and it provided you with everything you had hoped and worked hard for.

But this is different. This is your heart in play, beating for him more than for anything else. This is new and vaguely disconcerting but you cherish every minute of it anyway.

And so you laugh with him and steal the last of his roasted almonds when he isn’t looking and admire his solid frame and his no-nonsense approach to life. He is glowing and you are even more so in his presence.

So it is night, and you are walking this city and you are on a brightly lit bridge, water flowing calmly below it but your heart is a stormy sea that unleashes tidal waves in your chest and you are listening to his stream of words when it happens. No warning sign, just the gates opening and pouring heavy drop after drop of summer rain upon you.

You are soaking wet in under ten seconds and you stare at each other with wide eyes one second and burst into laughter the next. How did you not notice the light breeze in the air and the lack of stars in the sky. Maybe because the only stars that matter tonight are those in his eyes.

It is far far too late now to seek a hiding place to keep you dry but you run anyway and find shelter beneath the huge sunblind of a closed flower shop. You are both breathing hard from the running and the laughing and you are so close now that your heart is doing little somersaults in your chest. There’s so much mirth in his face and when he looks at you now, really looks at you his eyes are full of wonder and brim with a fondness that hasn’t been directed at you in far too many years. He sees you and you can’t hide it now, the depth of your affection for him is written all over your face.

And he is the brave one because one of his hands slowly reaches up to the back of your neck and caresses your soaking wet hair and the other cups your face and softly slides across your jaw and cheek. His thumb circles your ear and he quietly whispers your name, a silent question if this is ok and you nod, and then your noses slide against each other and his lips are touching yours with the lightest of pressure and you are lost. You’re not sure if the sigh you hear is your own but you know you need more of this so you capture his lips with more fervour, needing to explore, to taste. He becomes more daring then and when you feel his tongue against your lips you are drowning. All you can do is hold tight to his back and let the waves of butterflies in your stomach wash over you.

It feels like hours, or maybe it’s just minutes but it isn’t until you hear the wolf whistles of a group of passersby and the sound of him chuckling against your lips that you reach the surface again and breathe in lungfuls of air.

“You ok?” He asks because it might just look like you’re having a panic attack but you nod, afraid your voice will give out if you try to speak. You’re ok, you’re more than ok and he seems reassured by what he sees in your face. “Maybe we should take this elsewhere,” he whispers against your neck. “Yeah,” is what you manage in return when you feel him sliding one of his hands down your arm until it softly brushes your hand. It’s electric and makes you want more and this time it’s you making the move. It’s slow and lingering when your fingers slide along his and finally slot together like cogwheels, perfectly in tandem with each other, as if they’ve always belonged there. He squeezes your hand in reply and then looks at the midnight sky and the city scenery around you. The rain has dwindled down to a light drizzle now so he indicates the street and asks “Shall we?” Another nod from you is all it takes and you’re both off on the way to your lodgings, his feet soon increasing the pace and you are running now, your hand still in his hand, running like there’s no tomorrow, running, running…

 

You come to to the steady sound of raindrops drumming on your window, the pitter-patter echoing heavily in your silent bedroom. Your heart beats fast and you’re disoriented for a moment so you close your eyes again to hold on to the last of this fleeting memory and the warm happiness in your veins. But there’s no use when reality settles in and sucks the lifeblood out of you. You’re growing colder now. Faint orange street light filters in through the curtains and as you sit up you see yourself in the mirror across the room. The drops and rivulets reflect on your face and paint the picture of a haggard and worn out man. You’re a hollow shell, haunted by the remnants of your past. And yet, this is not one of them.

This never happened.


End file.
